


Unwanted Clemency

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, M/M, May/December Relationship, Rimming, Rough Sex, Seduction, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12520844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Slade Wilson, the bounty hunter known as Deathstroke who specializes in monsters, takes on a contract to hunt down an incubus. Will the boy he meets on the way help or hinder his search?





	Unwanted Clemency

**Author's Note:**

> for SladeRobin Week day 3! the prompts were "Bounty Hunter/Mafia AU || Demons." I went with all but the mafia part.
> 
> I owe this idea to [oliviathecf,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviathecf/profile) who was generous enough to let me write out her prompt! I hope it measures up.

Slade enters the forest armed to the teeth with ways to defeat an incubus: wards, salt, holy water, enchanted daggers. Which is why it’s so very embarrassing to be caught off-guard by a bear.

It’s not even a monstrous bear. It’s just a regular brown bear, more than twice his size and already pissed enough to attack him on sight. He can only get his weapon halfway out before it’s knocked out of his hand by one deadly swipe. The reinforced mesh of his armor absorbs the worst of the blow, but he’s still left with a nasty gash and a few hundred pounds of angry animal pinning him down to the ground.

The worst part, he thinks, is what people will say about him after he’s dead.  _ “Did you hear about the vicious monster hunter, Deathstroke? Seems he was taken out by a grizzly! I never believed all the rumors about him, anyway.” _

He grimaces and braces himself as the bear’s mouth opens around his head. But then—

_ BANG. _

Some of the weight eases off of his chest.

_ BANG. BANG. _

With a terrified roar, the bear turns tail and sprints off into the treeline. Slade pushes himself up with a bit of difficulty, rolling his shoulders and testing his joints. It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. That’s good. But before he can make a full catalog of his wounds, he has to figure out what the hell just saved him.

It doesn’t take long to find out. A figure emerges from the brush clutching what looks like a shotgun. It watches over the path of felled leaves and broken branches the bear left in its wake, then turns to Slade.

“It’s gone. Are you okay?”

It’s a boy. A kid; he can’t be much older than his mid-twenties. His flawless skin and bright eyes make Slade feel ten times more haggard than he is. He shoulders his gun and holds out a hand, but Slade pushes himself to his feet on his own.

“Fine. I’ve been through worse,” he says.

The boy doesn’t pull his hand back. “Well, mister, worse is what you’ll find if you stay out here like that. I’m Richard. People call me Dick.”

Slade eyes him warily, but grips his hand. He gives it a quick, firm shake. “Slade. People call me Deathstroke.”

“How do they get that from Slade?”

“Long story.” Slade glances toward his wound, trying not to make it obvious. Looks deep. He’ll have to clean it soon. “Listen, kid, it’s nearly dusk. You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”

Dick puts a hand on his hip. “I could say the same about you, especially with that gash of yours. More bears’ll smell you from a mile away.”

“It’s fine,” Slade says with a wave of his hand. “I came prepared.”

“I’ll say.” Dick rounds on him, examining his belts crammed with supplies. He pokes at a dangling potion bottle, either oblivious to or dismissive of Slade’s unamused stare. “Prepared for what? You setting up a mobile apothecary?”

“Hunting,” Slade grunts. He rummages through a pouch at his hip and pulls out a cloth, then starts to dab at his wound.

“A hunter who can’t even take down a bear?”

He kind of wants to kill this kid.

“Not hunting bears,” he says. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’m right where I need to be.” Dick moves to his other side. Much to Slade’s annoyance, he starts poking around in his med pouch, pulling things out and frowning. “You intend to patch yourself up with this? There’s hardly anything here!”

“Been a while since I’ve needed to stock up. Now, stop touching.”

“Oh, no,” Dick says. “You’re coming with me. We’ll get you wrapped up properly. You can get back to your hunt in the morning, once we can be sure that arm’s not infected.”

“I’ve been hiking this forest for a day, I’m not turning back—”

“Back? No.” Dick smiles, tucking the supplies in his own pockets. “My cabin’s right nearby. You can stay for the night.”

Slade’s eyes narrow. “I don’t remember seeing a cabin on the map.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty off-the-grid,” Dick says, already starting off. “It’s my grandfather’s. He built it himself, before they started charting this area.”

When Slade doesn’t answer, he turns back. “Well? C’mon! Infections don’t care how tough you want to seem.”

Reports on an incubus’s appearance should always be taken with a grain of salt. They can disguise themselves as humans easily, fool their prey for as long as it takes to seduce them. If he goes with the boy and he turns out to be the monster he’s hunting, he’ll end up isolated with it, on its own terms. Not great odds. Then again, according to his employer, this whole forest counts as the incubus’s terf. Plus, monster or not, the kid’s got all his supplies.

May as well go for it. If he plays his cards right, it’ll end up less “trapped in a cabin with a monster,” and more “monster trapped in a cabin with him.”

“Right,” he says, and follows the boy into the trees.

* * *

 

The cabin’s lived-in, that’s for sure. The landing is messy with dirty imprints of boots ground into the wood from years of use. The couches have dents where they’ve been sat in, and the fabric on the armrests has begun to fade in places. Dick invites him into the kitchen, where enough cups and plates for a family of three sit drying next to the sink.

“Indoor plumbing?” he asks, taking a seat at a stool by the kitchen island.

“Grandfather was very wealthy,” Dick says over his shoulder, heading off into the hallway that he figures leads to the bedrooms. “Left Father enough to make some updates.”

“Fancy.”

Slade keeps his guard up while Dick rummages around in cabinets down the hall. Just to be sure, he takes a quick inventory of all of his supplies, but it looks like only his medical kit is gone. None of the wards have been touched. He wonders if that’s because Dick didn’t care enough to take them, or because he can’t. After that, he begins the arduous process of removing all of his gear so he can take off his shirt.

For a while, the only sounds are the ones Dick makes gathering up medical supplies. Slade calls out, “Your dad not home?”

“He and my brother went into town to trade,” Dick shouts back. “Won’t be home for another few days.”

“Must be tough, out here all by yourself.”

“Not at all,” Dick says, footsteps foretelling his return. “Once you get used to them, these woods aren’t all that—”

He stops halfway into the room, arms full of bandages and glass bottles. Slade watches his teeth catch on his lip, his eyes rake down his bare chest.

“...scary.”

Another damning sign. Then again, if the boy really does live this far out into the forest, he must not see people outside of his family very often. Slade leans back against the counter, injured arm propped up on it.

“You know what they say about these woods, don’t you, kid?”

That snaps Dick out of his trance. He flushes and shoots Slade an apologetic smile, turning to focus instead on setting up all his supplies.

“About the curse? Yeah, I’ve heard,” he says. He nudges Slade’s elbow up and slides a towel underneath. “Doesn’t matter to me one way or another, though.”

Slade scrutinizes his face for any tells. “Why’s that?”

Dick shrugs. “Father’s been living in this cabin for years, and he doesn’t intend for that to change. ‘No silly story will send me running from my home,’ he says.”

“So, what?” Slade asks. “You staying here to take care of him?”

“Hmm… ‘Take care’ isn’t how I’d put it,” Dick says, minutely correcting the position of a bottle filled with clear liquid. “Father isn’t that old. But these woods  _ are _ dangerous, demon or not. You’ve seen that for yourself, haven’t you, Mr. Deathstroke?”

Dick smiles at him. Slade notices how long his lashes look from this angle. He kind of wants to punch him.

He turns away with a snort. Dick straightens up and grabs a folded square of bandages, wetting them with the clear potion. It fills Slade’s nostrils with an acrid scent that makes him wrinkle his nose.

“What is that stuff?” he asks to change the subject.

“It’s an elixir that rids the body of toxins,” Dick says. “Very potent, but, uh… I have to warn you, it’s not too pleasant.”

“No toxin out there that some hot water won’t take care of,” Slade says. “Never used the expensive stuff before, and look where it’s got me.”

“I can see where it’s got you,” Dick says, with a pointed glance down at Slade’s scar-tattered body. Slade waves him off. Before he can say anything else, though, Dick grabs under his bicep with a warm, soft hand. “Try to be still, alright?”

“Kid, I’ve dealt with pain befo— Oh,  _ hell. _ ”

Slade tenses and hisses when Dick swipes the wet cloth over his wound. It stings like fire, even stronger than the burn of near-boiling water. And worse, it lingers. He feels it prickling away at the meat of his arm even after Dick stops to wet a clean bandage.

“What’s that do, burn away at you until there’s nothing left to infect?” he growls.

Dick just grins that infuriating little grin of his. “Not too much for you, is it? I could get you something to bite down on...”

Slade glares. “Shut up and get on with it.”

 

After Dick stitches him up with a curved needle that’s much sharper and shinier than the one he normally uses, and dresses his wounds with clean bandages, Slade allows himself to get cajoled into soaking in the bath. Though he won’t admit it, it  _ is _ a touch more relaxing to sit in heated water, as opposed to the frigid streams he usually washes in. He scrubs the grime off of his body with sweet-smelling soaps and lets the heat soothe the aches in his muscles.

A little over an hour in the boy’s company, and he still isn’t any surer than before about whether or not he’s a masquerading incubus. He hasn’t gotten wind of any dark magic in the house (though, to someone not used to higher-class comforts like heated water, hearing the flicker of a flame warming a metal tank in another room certainly sounded like something sinister at the time). Dick hasn’t made any advances. The one time Slade thought he might — when Dick reached around after tying his bandages to card his fingers through the hair at the back of his head — it turned out he’d just been plucking out an errant twig still stuck in there from his earlier fall.

But then, the boy  _ is _ alone, and he  _ is  _ attractive, almost supernaturally so. For all he knows, the cabin could have belonged to a family that he fucked the life out of. And there’s no way he could miss the silky softness of his hands, much unlike the work-roughed ones he’d expect from someone living so far outside of the city limits. A one-off comment from Dick implied his brother did most of the handiwork around the house, but Slade’s not sure he believes that.

What a contract. Demons are some of the trickiest monsters to hunt. It’s nothing like staking a vampire or wrestling a minotaur into submission, and Slade prefers things he can overpower over things he has to outsmart. He has the brain for it — he’ll attest to that by pointing out he’s still alive, after all — but it makes the job drag on that much longer.

He forces himself out of the bath before its inviting warmth can lull him to sleep. He doesn’t intend to rest much tonight, or any night, for that matter, until he has the demon’s head tied to his belt. Dick’s laid out some of his father’s clothes for him, but they look just a touch too slim for Slade’s body type, so he strolls out in a towel.

Alright, maybe the clothes aren’t his only reason. Maybe he wants to give the kid some incentive, see if he takes the bait.

When he enters the family room, Dick is stoking the fire. He turns his head to greet Slade, but almost immediately turns it right back.

“Oh, uh… Didn’t the clothes fit…?”

“Nope.”

Slade strides without another word over to the smaller of the two couches. He takes a seat, sitting in his usual manner: legs splayed, arms over the back of the chair. The towel around his waist is small, but it covers what matters. He burns a hole in Dick’s back with his one good eye until the kid starts to shift. Only so much stalling he can do at the fire before he has to turn around.

“So, um,” he says finally, when he at last stands up. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, walking past Slade and into the combined dining room/kitchen. “This legend, the curse… It’s the monster you’re hunting, right? The incubus.”

Slade grunts noncommittally. “How could you tell?”

“All that stuff on your belt didn’t look like it was for game hunting.”

Turning to watch Dick putter around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, Slade allows himself to smirk. “Keen eye. You’re right. People hire me to take care of problems a shotgun can’t fix.”

“You should probably think about expanding,” Dick says, rocking back against the kitchen island. “I mean, without my shotgun…”

“Enough about that.” Slade turns back around. “You got anything to drink in here?”

He feels Dick’s cheeky smile behind him. “Sure thing, Mr. Deathstroke.”

“Slade,” he corrects. “Just Slade.”

Dick rounds on him a moment later with a bottle in one hand and two mugs in the other. “Alright,  _ Mr.  _ Slade.” He chuckles at the wrinkle in Slade’s nose and hands him a mug. Once both drinks are poured, he sets the bottle on the stout table between the couches and takes a seat. Leaning forward, he says, “So, tell me. About the monsters.”

“Starved for entertainment, aren’t you?” Slade asks. He lets his eyes linger on Dick’s body while he takes a drink; the flavor is a little nutty, a little woody, and not nearly strong enough for his tastes.

Dick, meanwhile, sips at his like he can’t stand a whole mouthful, and shifts under his gaze. “Father says superstition won’t do me any good.”

“Your father is an idiot.”

The shift in Dick’s mood is small, but apparent for someone with Slade’s degree of training. His hands tighten on his mug; he sits up a little straighter. His smile reappears a second later, but the skin-piercing coldness of his gaze doesn’t let up quite as fast.

“How did you lose your eye?” he asks. “Eaten by a lich? Pecked out by a harpy?”

Slade takes another impassive slurp from his mug. “My ex-wife.”

“Oh.” Dick’s shoulders slump. They sit like that for a minute more, then he picks the conversation right back up as if it hadn’t stalled. “So what do you do when you’re not out hunting monsters? No wife to go home to… It’s gotta be lonely without any human company.”

“You offering?” Slade asks, raising an eyebrow.

Dick takes a moment to pick up on his subtext, but when he does, he goes bright red. He gestures wildly, sloshing some of his drink on the floor as he does so.

“No… No, no! That’s not what I— Oh, jeez, look at me. You’d think I was a virgin or something,” he says, covering his face with a laugh. “No, I— No.” He smiles, claps his hand on his knee, and stands. “I’m gonna clean this up.”

Slade just smirks and nods.

Dick comes back without his mug, towel in hand. The way he kneels to mop up the stain leaves his rather shapely behind turned in Slade’s direction. He makes no secret of staring while Dick babbles.

“Y’know, it’s just been so long since I was in the village. I’ve been busy with the upkeep here, and all… They say it’s women’s work, but yeesh, women deserve a lot more love if that’s the case! Not that I don’t do my duty in that department… Uh, Slade?”

“No, no,” Slade says, knowing he’s been caught. “By all means, keep going.”

Dick rolls his eyes and slaps Slade’s chest with the wet towel on his way back to the kitchen. “I don’t do  _ that _ kind of women’s work.”

“Men can do it, too,” Slade calls out behind him. He just chuckles when Dick growls in frustration.

 

Either the kid’s playing the long con, or he really isn’t a demon. Slade continues to make advances during dinner — clad in only his towel the entire time — but nothing sticks. If anything, it only seems to make Dick even more eager to hurry off to bed. Alone.

Slade lies in the dark in Dick’s brother’s bed and contemplates things. He thinks about Dick’s body language, his expressions, the way he talks and walks… At first, he just makes a mental catalog of it all, searching for some clue that might give him the answer he’s looking for, but then his mind starts to wander.

Dick is the sort of person who wouldn’t be able to walk the streets alone at night, not in the neighborhoods Slade frequents. His pouty lips and plump rear beg to be defiled, but his eyes tell the story of a naive kid unfamiliar with the ways of the world. Not  _ too _ unfamiliar, he thinks, recalling Dick’s lingering glances and unabashed lack of virginity. He wonders if Dick has ever been with a man, or if he’s restricted himself to high-class village girls that smell of perfume and powder.

It isn’t long before he’s hard. Incubi are attracted to expressions of sexuality, so he doesn’t touch himself, but there’s not much he can do to tamp down on his problem. Every time he tries not to think of Dick, his mind winds up on some convoluted pathway that circles him right back. He thinks of taking the kid right over his father’s bed, leaving the scent of sweat and sex in the air like a marker, a challenge for dominance between himself and this unknown stranger. He thinks of making Dick scream, far enough out into the woods that no one will hear him.

No one, he thinks, except, maybe, for the incubus.

It’s a godawful idea. Probably the stupidest one he’s ever had, but once it sets in, it lingers there like a bad smell. If he has sex with the kid, one of two things will happen: he’ll reveal himself to be the incubus (bad), or the incubus will catch wind of what they’re doing and reveal itself of its own free will (manageable). Either way, Slade’s come prepared, and he knows how to fight dirty when he needs to. With all his preparation, it’d be near-impossible not to do at least  _ some _ damage to the thing, even with its claws dug into his back.

With a sigh, he heaves himself out of bed.

The middle of the night is prime hunting time for most creatures, incubi especially. Most of their victims go in their sleep, faces frozen in bliss while the energy is sucked right out of them. Best not to wait until morning, then. He’s not exactly sure how he’s going to excuse wandering around in the middle of the night with no clothes on, but, well, it’s not like he’s never done it before in earnest.

But when he passes the living area, it turns out he doesn’t need to go rouse Dick from his sleep. He’s already up, pacing nervously back and forth through the dark room. First to one window, then the other, then perched on the arm of the couch to gnaw on his fingers, then back to the window. Slade leans in the doorway and watches him for a few moments, arms crossed over his chest.

Dick spots him near the end of one circuit and nearly jumps out of his skin. He damn near does it a second time when he notices Slade’s still naked.

“Slade! What’re you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Slade says.

“I— It’s stupid,” Dick says with a laugh. He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “It’s just, you talking about monsters and curses and all… I guess I’m a little paranoid.”

“...Yeah.” Slade pushes away from the wall and stalks toward Dick. “Me too.”

Dick eyes him warily as he approaches, then starts to back up when he gets too close. Even though it’s obvious he tries to keep his eyes on Slade’s face, he can’t seem to stop glancing down.

“Uh… Sl-Slade…? What are you—”

Slade cuts him off by trapping him against the back of the couch, one arm on either side of Dick’s waist. Dick sleeps shirtless, it seems, with only a thin pair of trousers to cover himself. This close, he can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “I know what you are.”

Dick’s brow furrows, one hand on the back of the couch, the other raised up between them, but not touching, not quite. “What? I don’t—”

“Can it.” Slade snatches him up by the wrist. “You’re that thing, aren’t you? The incubus.”

Dick cycles through a few expressions rapid-fire: confusion, realization, incredulity. He at last settles on something that looks flattered, if still a bit perplexed.

“The— The incubus? The sex demon?” he asks. Then he laughs, though it’s more breathy than usual. “Slade, I… You… You really think I’m that enticing…?”

Bingo. There’s the reaction he was looking for. Slade’s not a fool; he didn’t actually expect the demon would give itself up after being questioned. But now, incubus or not, he has the perfect opportunity to turn things the way he wants them to go, and make it seem like it was never his idea at all.

He puts on a frown, easing up on Dick’s face only slightly. “You’ve got to be. I’ve thought of nothing but you since you saved me from that damn beast. Probably a set-up, wasn’t it?”

“Are you mad? No!”

Despite what he says, Dick doesn’t seem too scandalized. He’s preoccupied with Slade’s lips. Slade indulges him by moving a touch closer.

“Then why do I feel this way, hm? Why do I want to turn you over and make you mine?”

“Slade.” Dick’s shoulders slump with his exhale. He’s trembling a bit. “Sir. Y-you shouldn’t say such things.”

“I like it when you call me Sir,” Slade says. “Do it again.”

Dick pulls his arm free; Slade lets him. He slowly, uncertainly runs his hands up Slade’s chest, then whispers “ _ Sir, _ ” and drags him down for a kiss.

 

They end up in Dick’s bedroom, Dick already flushed and out of breath, lips dark from their assault between Slade’s teeth. Slade grabs a container from his things on the way there and explains himself, says if he’s not the incubus then they need to protect themselves with a salt circle around the bed. Dick agrees quickly, hardly willing to let go of him. The circle is misshapen and messy by the time he’s done, but it’s thick, so it’ll do.

He’s either in bed with an incubus, or in the one place where they can’t be attacked.

Dick kisses with all the vigor of a virgin despite his circumstances. Slade asks if this is his first time with a man, and Dick confirms it with a nod of his head. It doesn’t affect how he touches him, but Slade keeps it in mind when he runs a finger down the crack of his ass.

Dick’s youthful enthusiasm extends past kissing. Despite his inexperience, he’s eager to kiss down Slade’s torso, through the white hair on his chest and down his stomach, all the way to his cock. His first few licks are tentative, exploratory, but he takes to it after that like a fish in water. Slade has to remind him a few times to watch his teeth, but once he gets it down, he bobs his head and sucks as if he’s had years of practice.

Maybe that’s suspicious. Slade isn’t sure he gives a damn any more.

He pulls Dick off before he can finish, urges him to straddle his head. Dick squirms and pushes him away, says “That’s dirty” so breathlessly that Slade wouldn’t care even if it were true. He locks his hands on Dick’s hips and tongues his hole, and Dick gasps, moans, grabs his hair in one hand and the headboard in another. In seconds, his protests melt away in favor of pleasure, and he rolls his hips while Slade thrusts his tongue in and out of him.

The kid’s moans could get him off all on their own. He’s more vocal than some women Slade’s been with. The way he begs and pleads and practically squeals makes Slade’s blood throb in his cock, his thoughts spin in his head. He wants little more than to fuck Dick until both of them see stars.

He flips them over before he slides a finger into Dick’s tight, wet hole. Dick covers his face with his hands and grabs at his hair, keening like a bitch in heat.

“Oh, Slade. Oh, Slade,” he cries, arched in a way that shows off the flawless expanse of his throat. Slade leans forward, starts to bite at his Adam’s apple while he works his finger in and out. “Oh, please, Sir,  _ please. _ ”

“What do you want?” Slade asks. “Tell me.”

“I— I don’t know,” Dick gasps. He hooks one arm around Slade’s waist and braces the other against the headboard, the rest of his body rocking in time with Slade’s powerful thrusts. “This is so—  _ Ohh.  _ I don’t know. W-with men, it’s—”

“What is it?” Slade presses, peppering the corners of Dick’s mouth with hot, heavy kisses. “It’s dirty? It’s wrong? I’ve heard it all. Never makes a damn bit of difference to me.”

Dick moans and bends backward, surprisingly flexible. “Show me. Show me what you do. I changed my mind, I’ll be your whore, just  _ please, _ don’t  _ stop. _ ”

Slade growls and bites his neck. A present for his stubborn old father, he thinks. It’s what happens when you leave your pretty son home alone.

The woods  _ are _ dangerous, and not just because of monsters.

He fills Dick up with his fingers until his pleas turn to gibberish and tears start to gather on those long eyelashes of his. They don’t have anything to use as lubricant, but Dick still feels wet enough, and enticingly pliant, so he doesn’t chance going to find something. He lines the head of his cock up, and Dick grabs at his face, holding on for dear life.

Then he rocks his hips forward, and Dick falls apart.

He makes noises like he can’t decide whether he’s in pain or in bliss. Slade keeps fucking him through it anyway, steadily working himself inside with each thrust. Dick seems to settle on the pleasurable side of the fence, from the way his eyes roll back and his cock jumps against his stomach. Slade’s never thought of himself as much of a reverent person, but the sight is a wonder to behold.

Building closer and closer to his orgasm, he finds that all he can think of is Dick. Dick’s face, Dick’s voice, the rise and fall of Dick’s chest while he gasps for breath and cries out like a wanton whore. Pressure builds in him, and he bites his way through it like a predator, marking up Dick’s neck with a series of ugly red bruises.

And then, right on the precipice of his orgasm, something changes.

The darkness seems to get even darker somehow. The sex-thick air around them gets more stifling, until all he can smell and taste is musk. His body moves without his permission, driving Dick into the mattress so hard he bounces.

He feels nails scrape down his back with tips that are far too sharp.

The moment he realizes what’s going on, Dick’s moans melt into a calm sort of laughter. It tickles his ears like music, but his stomach sinks at the same time. One hand pets the back of his neck like it’s trying to soothe an animal, but Slade rears back anyway, teeth bared.

Staring back at him is an approximation of Dick, with canines too long and eyes too white. Spread out underneath him are a pair of leathery wings. Blue and black designs ring his eyes and spread across his chest, a makeshift emblem and mask etched right into his skin. Arcane markings.

“It is you,” Slade says.

“Hush, Mr. Deathstroke,” Dick says, lips curled into a devil’s smile. “You did good. You worked hard. It’s time to rest a while, now.”

Slade pulls back even more, only to realize halfway up that he forgot his belts. The only thing he’d taken from them was the damn salt.

The salt trapping him in bed with a hungry demon.

The demon cups his face and coos, hips still rolling to encourage Slade’s body to follow suit. Much as he tries to resist, he finds that he can’t.

“Forget something? It’s okay.” Dick’s legs wrap around his waist, and he takes a moment to lie back and sigh, dragging Slade down with him. “You don’t need to worry any more. I’ve got you. Why would you kill me when you could have me like this?  _ Ooh, _ Sir, believe me, I want it as bad as you do…”

“Liar.” Slade digs his nails into Dick’s hips, but all it does is make him shudder. “Demon. You think I’ll be fooled that easily?”

“Oh, but Mr. Deathstroke,” Dick says, “you already were.”

When Slade doesn’t respond, he continues on.

“From the moment you stepped into this forest, you’ve been under my spell. I know it’s hard to accept, but you never had a chance. Don’t glare like that! It’s only nature,” he giggles. “Sometimes you’re the predator. Other times… Well.”

He wants to rip the demon’s grin out of its skull. Wants to kill him, wants to maim him, wants to fuck him until he forgets all about every other unlucky soul he’s ever enchanted.

“It’s alright, dear. We’ll have lots of fun, all of us together.”

Slade’s vision is going hazy, mind bleary from the exertion of trying to will himself to stop fucking Dick for just a moment.

“All?” he pants.

Dick’s grin sends shivers down his spine. It’s the first time a monster’s managed to elicit that reaction from him since he started in the business.

“Oh, yes. Did you think I was joking about my family? They’ll be here soon, and when we figure out how to break that pesky circle of yours…”

Slade gapes. Not one demon. Three.  _ Three _ in one place. No wonder he fell victim so easily. If he gets out alive, he vows to find that bastard contractor and rip him limb from limb.

But for now.

For now, he lets Dick kiss him.

For now, he loses the battle.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) for more updates on my writing!


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